Indoor Time Lord
by Nehszriah
Summary: When someone tells you to stop playing with a yo-yo in the flat, it's probably a good idea to listen to them. [Whouffaldi, though doesn't have to be read as such, and fluff]


A/N: The following was taken from a prompt off of tumblr, which was simply "The Doctor, his yo-yo, a ridiculous incident, Clara to the rescue or *something*." It ended up being silly alright. Can be read as shippy or non-shippy, depending on how in-denial one is.

* * *

Indoor Time Lord

Pacing throughout the flat, the Doctor fiddled with his yo-yo, trying to keep his hands busy as well as his brain. It was a difficult thing to accomplish, keeping a Time Lord's hands busy, and he was being generally successful, despite how fidgety he was on a normal day. Up the hall, down the hall, into all the different rooms, back into the hall, spin around, repeat; it was beginning to drive Clara mad.

"Will you _stop it_?!" she snapped, glaring at him over the back of the couch. "You're going to break something and then I'll have to clean it up!"

"I clean up my messes," he claimed.

"Uh-huh, sure—the TARDIS has been your personal maid for the past how many thousand years?"

"Just _two_ … you make it sound to be an eternity."

"When you only live about eighty-odd years on average, that sort of is," she snarked. Clara went back to her show and ignored the alien wandering about her flat unrestricted. She missed _Strictly_ the week before and she wasn't going to miss out again because he was being foolish. After the program was over, she turned off the television and leaned back into the couch, noting that the Doctor was nowhere in sight.

"You can come back in now," she called out, figuring he had just retreated to the TARDIS.

Instead of wandering back into the restrictive space and complaining about the lack of room, the Doctor replied rather sheepishly with "Clara… _help_ …"

Okay, _now_ her curiosity was piqued. She stood and carefully crept over the rug, hand trailing along the wall as she went to the kitchen. There, tied up in his own yo-yo string, was the Doctor, lying prostrate on the linoleum flooring looking very, very foolish.

"So this is why I haven't heard hell or high water out of you for a while," she smirked. Clara crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the doorjamb. "To think I thought that thump I heard was just Sandeep jumping about upstairs. I have to admit though, that's a talent you've got there. Didn't even think there was enough string in that stupid thing to have you this trussed up."

"Could you be a pal and help me up?" he asked. "I can't seem to find my balance."

"Hmm… I'm not sure you've learnt your lesson…" she pondered. "I mean, I _did_ tell you to stop, now didn't I? What did you keep on doing instead?"

"Playing with the yo-yo, but Clara, I didn't break anything!"

"Only your dignity," she said. She went over to the counter and put some grapes from her fruit bowl on a saucer. Another of the small plates got filled with water and she placed them both on the ground in a corner. "I think I'm going to go to bed early tonight; rough day and all with testing."

"What, you're going to _leave me here_?!" he panicked.

"You won't starve or dehydrate—you'll be fine."

"I don't drink out of saucers! I'm not a cat! And grapes?! They're the small turds of the fruit world."

"Funny, because last week you told me it was Chinese gooseberry…"

"I'm over two millennia old—I'm allowed to change my mind once in a while—now Clara, _please_."

"See you in the morning," she grinned, walking away.

" _Claraaaaa_ ," the Doctor whined. She did her best to leave him be, despite feeling bad for leaving him on the hard floor overnight. He _had_ to learn his lesson though, she kept on repeating to herself as she changed into her pajamas and flopped into bed. She was out quicker than normal, however, and she slept soundly throughout the night.

By the time she woke up, Clara noticed something very peculiar: an extra weight was hanging over the extra bit of mattress behind her. She rolled over and saw a shock of grey hair by her face. Leaning forward, she kissed it, waking the rest of the man that was attached to it.

"Sleep well?" she asked.

"After I had to crawl over here like a caterpillar? No," he pouted. "I'm sorry Clara; I'll make sure I listen next time you tell me to not do something in the flat."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Then give me a minute," she replied, pressing the tip of his nose with a finger. Clara forced herself out of bed and fetched a pair of scissors from a drawer. Within moments, the Doctor was free. "There… that better?"

"Yes," he said, stretching his limbs. "No more of the yo-yo in the flat."

"Thank you." She perched on her toes and pecked him on the cheek. "Breakfast?"

"That'd be nice, thanks; those grapes were _horrid_."

"…and you're a six-foot-tall baby," she reminded him. He nodded, unable to argue with the fact that all his different faces had peculiarities to them, and followed her out of the bedroom. They split up, with her going to the kitchen and he headed into the TARDIS.

Five minutes later, however, and it sounded like someone was strangling an electric ostrich in the middle of her flat. Clara nearly dropped the butter knife in surprise and stormed over to the open ship in her sitting room. She poked her head in and found the Doctor on his guitar, working out one riff or another.

"What…?" he wondered. "I'm in the TARDIS."

Clara simply closed the door behind her. It wasn't worth arguing… this time.


End file.
